Waking Dreams
by Philote
Summary: Jack’s reality blends with his dreams to the point where he doesn’t know what’s real. Tag for "Exit Wounds."


Title: Waking Dreams

Author: Philote

Fandom: Torchwood

Characters/Pairing: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Owen, Rose, Ten (Jack/Ianto)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Torchwood _and_ Dr. Who_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Warnings: Spoilers through "Exit Wounds"

Summary: Jack's reality blends with his dreams to the point where he doesn't know what's real.

Author's Note: Written for the 'delirious' prompt at Taming the Muse.

oOo

During his centuries under the dirt, his dreams and fantasies were fervently filled with very realistic people. He'd lived more than enough years to have vivid memories of more than enough people to fill the brief periods between the insistent, recurring deaths.

But once he was out, out of the ground and out of frozen suspension, back with what little was left of his team, the dreams didn't stop. They simply shifted. Now he dreams he is still trapped in the ground, inhaling the earth and dying more times than he can count. He still imagines conversations with people long (and not so long) gone. Sometimes these alternate realities present while he's asleep; sometimes at much more inconvenient times.

So, really, not much has changed. He's still splitting his time between the living, the dead, and gasping in the dirt. But he is out of the grave, back among the living.

Right?

oOo

He dreams of darkness, of things crawling over his skin and the smell and taste of soil. He starts choking in his sleep. Sometimes, he's pretty sure he stops breathing before he finally wakes.

But most mornings he wakes to a firm hand on his chest and an urgent voice in his ear. The first dozen times he tries to put on a brave face and an 'it's nothing' attitude for Ianto. But his acting does nothing for the young man, who doesn't buy it for a second. He tries to get Jack to talk about it. But Jack finds he can give nothing more than dry facts and attempts at humor. He just can't share it, not the true horror of it anyway, not with someone he cares for. He'd rather see concern and helplessness in Ianto's eyes than pity and fear.

Then he starts to get more violent, clawing as he instinctually did. Only he's not being contained by dirt—he's wrapped in sheets and Ianto's arms.

When he draws blood with the deep scratches, he stops sleeping unless he's alone in the bed.

oOo

He's standing in his office, watching Ianto move about below. He's sporting a nasty red mark on his cheek.

"He's quite a catch."

He turns to find the young woman seated on the edge of his desk. She grins, arching one eyebrow teasingly. "Sweet, too. And here I always thought you preferred sass."

He grins, an honest smile. "Oh, Ianto's got sass. Maybe not quite as much as you."

Rose rewards him with a smirk. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain Jack."

"That's not been my experience."

"Then perhaps your experience has been lacking of late."

"Well. It has been a few years." He doesn't count Ianto; he'd won Ianto beforehand. He hasn't tried for anyone else, and he's pretty sure he couldn't manage even a simple pick up anymore. "Maybe I'm a little rusty."

She tilts her head sympathetically. "You'll bounce back."

"I always do." He laughs humorlessly. "Don't really have a choice in the matter."

"Sir?"

He snaps back to awareness. He's not sure if he was drifting into sleep or not. Either way, his desk is now void of pretty blondes.

He feigns a smile, musters up a semblance of a leer. "Are we really going back to 'sir,' Ianto?"

Ianto rolls his eyes, but it does little to erase the concern on his features.

oOo

He's sitting alone on the autopsy table when an annoyed sigh sounds behind him. A grin ghosts his lips. "Gonna diagnose me, Doctor Harper?"

Owen comes around to face him and shrugs. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but I'll give it a go."

Jack leans back, certain this will be good. "All right."

"You're a bit of a narcissist. You've also got self-destructive tendencies, but we could argue that point since your self _can't_ be destroyed. You're paranoid. You have intimacy issues."

"Hey!" Jack interjects. Owen just gives him a look, and he eventually gives in. "Fine. But nothing about the hallucinations?" He waves his hand about, gesturing at the other man.

Owen doesn't take offense. He just looks sympathetic. "You have PTSD, Jack. Probably the worst case I've ever seen."

Jack considers that for a moment. "What's the second worst?"

Owen smirks. "You again, last year. After your jaunt with your Doctor. Though, perhaps all of that only counts as one case."

"Jack?"

He turns towards the voice. Gwen is poised on the second stair, wariness in her expression. "Who are you talking to?"

He turns back. The room is empty.

He puts on a well-rehearsed smile for her. "No one."

oOo

"He's delusional," Gwen pronounces.

Jack freezes just out of sight and listens curiously.

"He's not delusional," Ianto counters. "He's just…recovering."

"It's difficult to recover from _insanity_. Come on, now. You told me just yesterday that he was scaring you."

There's a sigh that makes Jack's heart hurt a little. "He's struggling. But I think he's entitled, don't you?"

"Entitled, sure. We're all entitled to a little madness around here." There's a long pause, and he can picture her face as she gestures broadly and then realizes that 'all' is encompassed by the two of them. Her voice is a bit quieter when she speaks again. "But he's going off the deep end, Ianto. We have to do something."

"Like what?"

"Like…I don't know. Something."

Jack wanders away. He's sure if they find a solution, they'll let him know.

oOo

He wakes gasping again, but the strong hand on his chest isn't Ianto's. He looks up into the dark, concerned eyes.

There is a long moment of silence. Then, "Right then. Let's take a little trip, you and me. What do you say?"

He says nothing, just shuts his eyes and burrows back into the pillow. Common sense tells him that the Doctor isn't really here; hasn't been here for 2000 years. He's just dreaming, again.

But then long, familiar fingers move up to his cheek and pinch. _Hard._ His eyes fly open and he instinctively cries out, grasping the offending wrist.

The Doctor's gaze is steady and intense. "You're awake, Jack. I am real."

He shakes his head, but he feels the pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. His hand shakes as it travels from wrist to chest, seeking first one heartbeat, then the other. He flattens his palm over the second, trembling.

The Doctor lets him touch, lets him take the time he needs. After a long pause he asks simply, "So?"

Jack considers. He doesn't really see how dislodging himself from the timeline will help him anchor himself in reality.

But he feels the heartbeat under his palm, and considers that maybe he needs an anchor that can withstand shifts in time and space.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Okay."

And, with minimal snuffling and a brief tangling in the covers, he lets the Doctor tug him out of his dream-world.

oOo


End file.
